He left the prop on the door and squeezed through the opening. A few steps into the fort, he slipped on the muddy ground and dropped to a knee. Pain shot up his thigh. Turk bit back a groan and got to his feet. The wall offered a sense of comfort. No one could be behind him. He could move forward without worrying about an ambush.
Turk stood fifty feet from the cell when three figures emerged from the center of the fort. They took a few steps into the rain. Each man instinctively lifted one hand over their brow to shield their eyes from the water. Turk dropped to the ground before any of them looked in his direction.
The storm muffled their voices. One of them pointed toward the gate. They all nodded, then moved forward, crossing the concrete then trudging through the muddy ground.
Turk assumed they were looking for the dead man.
He remained still and watched the men as they continued toward the exit gate. One of two things would happen. They’d either go through it, or lock it.
They stopped in front of the tall wooden door. Turned to one another. The guy in the middle had animated hands. His voice carried on the wind. Turk made out a few of the words. Enough to understand that the dead man had been gone too long.
After several seconds, the man kicked the prop. The wind slammed the gate shut. The guy turned and dipped his shoulder and drove it into the wood, forcing the door open. One by one, the men filed through the opening. The gate slammed shut once again after the last one had passed through.
Turk had anywhere from seconds to minutes. If the men spotted the large body in the water, at least one would rush back. If they didn’t they’d circle the fort, maybe walk out on the pier, call out into the dark night and thrashing waves in search of their fellow survivor.
That would buy him five to ten extra minutes.
Turk dug his fingers into the mud and pushed off the ground. He dashed toward the relative stability of the concrete and then raced toward the cell. In the shadows he saw three or four figures on the ground. None stirred.
When he reached the rusted iron bars, he pulled the flashlight out of his pocket and shone it inside, sweeping across the cell. There were two older men on the floor. They were dirty and bloody and barely moved, despite the light shining in their eyes. Their limbs were deformed. Expressions were pained.
On a wooden bench along the back wall sat a woman. She was dirty. Dried blood coated her upper lip and trailed down to her chin. One eye looked bruised. She had dark hair and a pretty face and looked familiar.
“Rhea?”
She stared at Turk as though he was a ghost.
“Rhea?” he said again.
Her lips parted. She blinked a couple times, then shook her head slightly.
Turk shifted the rifle around to his back and began tugging on the bars, trying to locate the opening.
The woman pointed to his right. He followed her gaze and saw the chain tightly wrapped around a few of the bars. A lock threaded between two links.
“Are you Rhea?”
She crossed the cell, stepping over the living corpses on the floor, and stood in front of him. There was no doubt in his mind who she was.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Name’s Turk. I’m a friend of the family.”
“They’re okay?”
“I just came from the house. They’re fine. I’m here to get you back to them.”
“It’s locked.”
Turk smiled, knowing the woman was breaking free from the shock that shackled her in the cell.
“Who’s got the key?” he asked.
“The big guy. He was here fifteen minutes ago I guess.” She looked past Turk and pointed at the gate. “Then he went out there.”
Turk reached both hands behind his head. He could have smashed the bars he was so angry at himself for not searching the man before tossing him into the harbor.
“Anyone else?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“You’re sure?”
“He was the only one I ever saw open the door.”
Turk looked over his shoulder. He had to go back out where three men patrolled the area, on alert, and probably with trigger fingers.
“I’ll be back, Rhea. You sit where you were and tell these old guys to keep their damn mouths shut if anyone else comes.”
This time, Turk didn’t bother with hovering in the shadows of the wall. He sprinted across the courtyard. Slid five feet when he hit the mud. Didn’t fall, though. When he reached the door, there was no point stopping. The heavy rainfall made it impossible to hear anything.
He pushed the gate open and stepped through with his pistol drawn. The handgun was faster to maneuver and had more ammunition available.
It was empty outside the fort. Through the grey veil, he saw the ocean rising and falling. Gusts of wind whipped across the island, sending debris flying through the rain.
Turk ran along the wall. He stopped at the edge, collected himself, then eased his head around the corner. The shadows made it hard to tell, but the stretch of land appeared empty. He cut diagonally toward the water, searching for the body.
He couldn’t find it.
Had the current done its job faster than Turk expected?
Had the men found the man?
He ruled out the second option. At least one of them would have returned to the fort to alert the others. Wasn’t like the big guy just fell in. He had visible injuries when Turk had finished with him.
Turk hid the rifle in the shadows then entered the water where he had left the corpse. Diving under was pointless, as visibility was zero.
He did it anyway, feeling along the sandy bottom.
But the churning water had claimed the body and swept it into the harbor or out to sea.
Turk crawled out of the harbor and returned to the shadows. His mind raced with ideas. Everything from explosives to pipe cutters came to mind. Nothing feasible. He needed that damn key. There was no way only one existed, but he couldn’t kill every single person at the fort to find out.
He heard someone call out from around the corner. Turk eased along the wall until he reached the corner.
“Hey,” the voice called again. “Come look.”
Turk peeked around the edge and saw a man standing there with his rifle in one hand, and the other above his head. A cord spiraled in the wind. Something was fixed to the end. Something small.
A key.
The key.
Turk dropped the rifle, holstered the pistol and pulled the knife from its sheath. He lowered his center of gravity, then sprinted forward.
The man looked back. His eyes widened at the sight of the ex-SEAL flying toward him. He tried to turn around to face his attacker, but could only manage to get sideways by the time Turk plowed into him.
Turk’s momentum carried them to the ground. He struck at the guy’s head several times with fist and blade. The man fought back, swinging wildly. Turk pinned the guy’s head down, then sawed through the gristle in the guy’s neck with the blade. Skin parted and a sheet of blood escaped as the guy’s gargled screams were lost in the wind.
Turk grabbed the guy’s arms in search of the key, but found his hands empty.
“Son of a bitch,” he shouted, rising.
Then a loud crack split the air around him. Searing pain spread across his abdomen. His body whipped around not of its own accord. He fell to the muddy ground. The knife glinted a few feet away. One arm was pinned under him, the other rested on his thigh, a trail of blood flowing along the skin.
Chapter 23
It seemed as though the still and humid air in the small cabin pressed down on Sean with incredible force. He had entered in search of a child, but now faced a potential assailant. The mass of the man unfolded upward, doubling in length. He lunged at Sean, his mouth hanging open, eyes burning with hatred.
Sean sprawled back. He used his left hand to push the man’s head down, then dropped his right elbow into the back of the guy’s neck.
The man let out a hollow attempt at a scream.
Sean rolled off and scooted away, kicking the guy in the head with his prosthetic. The weak blows helped push him away.
The man flailed his arms a couple times. They looked like overcooked spaghetti, and the man wasn’t able to get his arms under himself.
“Who the fuck are you?” Sean got his feet under him and pulled his pistol out. He aimed it at the guy, who had managed to get up on his knees. “We’re just passing through, man. Don’t mean you no harm. Thought I saw someone calling for help from inside here.”
The guy opened his mouth to speak. A deep, grating groan came out. His eyes glowed blue.
“You’re one of them.” Sean’s rapid pulse increased.
The afflicted jerked its head left, then right. It got one foot on the ground. Screamed.
Sean took a step back, then fired. The bullet tore through the afflicted’s forehead, sending it to the floor on its side.
Sean waited a few seconds while the light in the afflicted’s eyes extinguished. Then he approached and kicked the body over onto its back. He wiped his brow while contemplating the identity of the man. For a second, there had been a trace of humanity there. Reminded him of Kathy at the end. No matter how he tried to convince himself his wife was gone when he fired the shot that neutralized her body, he knew Kathy watched him kill her.
The sound of crying drifted in from the hallway. Sean left the corpse of the afflicted and moved to the other end of the cabin. One door stood open. He shone his light and found an empty, foul-smelling room. He pulled the door shut, then turned to the other side of the hallway. The door was locked, but a shoulder driven into the edge near the frame knocked it open.
A little girl called out. “No!”
Sean leaned forward. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m here to help you.”
She sobbed a few times, then settled enough to say, “My mommy’s dead and my daddy’s sick.”
Sean nodded. “You can come with us. We’re going someplace safe.”
She took a step forward and reached for his hand.
“I’m Sean. What’s your name?”
“Paige.” The girl couldn’t have been much older than seven. “Paige Winters. My daddy is Ron. Momma’s Missy.”
“Okay, Paige. I need you to wait here for a few minutes. I’m going to get my daughter and bring her inside.”
Sean left and exited the cabin. Addison had taken his place in the ATV and had started it up. She cut the engine upon seeing Sean.
“Emma,” Sean said. “Inside, down the hall on the right and to the back right room. There’s a little girl named Paige in there. I need you to go sit with her.”
Emma nodded and climbed down.
Sean grabbed her arm. “Listen, don’t stop in the living room. Just go right to the hall.”
He waited until she entered the cabin then turned his attention to Barbara.
“She’s still breathing,” Jenny said.
“Help me get her inside.”
They pulled Barbara from the ATV and carried her toward the house.
“Won’t they know we’re here?” Addison asked.
“Who?”
“Those afflicted. The gunshot. Won’t they have heard it?”
Sean nodded as he considered the implications of his action. He’d had no choice. And they had no choice but to stay at the cabin. All around, thunder roared and lightning cracked. It wouldn’t be long before the heavy winds and rains hit.
“That’s why we’ve got to get her inside and cleaned up. The sound might draw them near, but they won’t know exactly where we are. I’m hoping the storm disorients them a bit.”
Once inside, they moved Barbara to the back bedroom. Sean instructed Jenny to look for water, while he and Addison moved the afflicted corpse out to the backyard.
“You think they won’t be attracted to him?” Addison asked.
Sean shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“That’s not very comforting.”
“I know, but we don’t have a choice.”
“We can leave.”
Sean gestured toward the sky. “You see that? You know what’s coming our way? That’s a hurricane, and we’re less than fifty miles inland. It could be worse than anything we’ve faced so far, living or dead. Now go inside and help Jenny. I’m going to see if I can protect the ATV from the storm.”
He waited until she had disappeared into the dark cabin, then walked to the ATV. The wind blew through the treetops and past him with force. He started the vehicle and drove it around the house. He found an opening wide enough around back to pull the ATV into the woods. Moving slowly, he managed to get it ten feet deep. It wasn’t any safer from the storm, but if someone should come by during the night, they were less likely to find it here.
Back inside, Sean secured the locks to the front and rear doors. He checked on the women in the bedroom and moved Marley into the room with Emma and Paige.
Afterward, he cut on his flashlight and walked the interior of the cabin. The place looked like it might have been used for hunting, given the decor and location. Maybe it had a store of weapons.
He noticed that the table had been knocked back a few feet in the kitchen as a result of his fight with the afflicted. It sat on top of a rug, which had also slid from its original spot. It had been there so long that a black outline traced the wooden floor where its edge had sat.